Left Behind

• Tegan Hay, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2011

I’m standing in the doorway of my daughter’s bedroom. Something on her desk catches my eye and I find myself at the opposite side of the room. I’m hit with a strong, but soothing perfume that I can’t put a name to.
Her desk is covered with beloved memories, photos and trinkets she has picked up on her travels, along with a half eaten chocolate bar. I brush my finger along the edge of a silver photo frame with a thin layer of dust coating its shiny surface, the tiny dust particles clinging to my fingers.
I drift to her small cubby, in it a couch and bookshelf that doesn’t fit all her books. Next to it, a stack of all the books she is yet to read. A smile breaks across my face. She always tried to do more than we both knew was practicable.
Her library is a closed in space, but that doesn’t matter, as soon as she starts to read, she loses herself in an entirely different world, her beautiful face always shows such emotion, even when she tried hard to cover it up.
Looking up, I see her closed wardrobe door, curiosity filling me. I haven’t seen inside her wardrobe for many years. I walk to it and open the door, switching on the light. It’s a big, walk-in wardrobe which she needs. Her wardrobe, once filled with stuffed toys is now full of clothes, all different colours and styles, her dance costumes she’s kept from every concert she’s been in, and her graduation dress, bought just two weeks ago. It’s bright blue which suits her skin tone and matches her eyes. I sigh. She seems to have changed from a sweet little girl to a mature young lady over night.
I turn the light out, and shut the wardrobe door.
To the right of me is a shelf. On it lays her iPod. I
wonder, what’s she been listening to all these years. I realise I have no idea. What else don’t I know about my own daughter? I feel a twinge of guilt and sadness as I think of all the free moments I’ve had which haven’t been spent indulging in conversation with my daughter.
I turn to face her bed. On it lays a candy pink bedspread. For the past year she’d been nagging for a new quilt, a more ‘grown-up’ one. It would have been so easy to please her.
I sit on her empty bed and my heart sinks. I realise her bed will never be warm again. I gaze over at her desk, at the half eaten chocolate that will never be finished, and by her bookshelf, a pile of books she will never get to read. I think of the graduation dress I will never get to see her wear again.
A lonely tear roles down my cheek. I stand, and walk slowly out of the room, closing her door behind me.
This is what’s left behind, when teenagers choose to drink and drive.